Poem by Teresinka Pereira
Maybe the eagle, -without its role
of symbol- may fly with a winning life,
going through windows and doors
from town to town until it reaches
the sea, and gets free.
But here we are trapped in the
desperation of a useless thought,
and cannot conquer time, this
transparent enemy, hidden in itself,
devouring our strength.
How to write about this flow
of infidelity, without crying,
without feeling the hands empty,
counting the days that
go fast running before us all?